


A Pearl of Great Price

by Hannibalsimago, OfDvorakAndDastardlySchemes



Category: Basic Instinct 2, Casino Royale - Fandom, Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom
Genre: #SummertimeSlick Fest, A bit of torture, Alpha Jean (Le Chiffre), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Biting, Blood, Death Threats, Flirting, Gambling, Heat Sex, I tell you though... it will EARN that rating., Intrigue, M/M, Omega Adam, References to that Bond fellow, Romance, Scenting, Set during Casino Royale, Violence, a lot of tags!, clearly I do not know how to tag things, criminals, dastardly schemes, intersex Adam Towers, intersex omega, just tags, less-than-respectable business dealings, more tags as we go along!, no dogs, surprise heat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 10:29:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12957291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hannibalsimago/pseuds/Hannibalsimago, https://archiveofourown.org/users/OfDvorakAndDastardlySchemes/pseuds/OfDvorakAndDastardlySchemes
Summary: In the days leading up to the Casino Royale event, Le Chiffre has much to do and very little time to do it in.  Everything must go exactly to plan.  But he has it under control; he's foreseen every eventuality, ran every scenario, factored in everything and crunched all the numbers.  He won't be gotten the better of again.And then an investigative journalist with a dark head of curls and a debilitating charm spots him, smiles, and holds out a hand.Very late submission to #SummertimeSlick, incorporating the prompts: Scenting, Surprise Heat, Broken Aircon, Role Reversal, Heatwave, and Slick Sunday!  (So much slick...)This fic is temporarily on hi-ate-us.  Patience is appreciated. Real life can be...interesting.





	A Pearl of Great Price

**Author's Note:**

> In case you hadn't noticed, our submission for #SummertimeSlick is very, very late, but we've put a lot of love and effort into this, and we couldn't be more pleased to begin posting.
> 
> We're both new to writing involved, plotty, multi-chapter stories, but we're very excited and we hope you'll stick with us! We think it'll be worth it. :)
> 
> This work takes a page out of Purefoysgirl's Omega anatomy class. Omegas in this AU are Intersex meaning a blended gender, i.e. they have functional reproductive organs of all genders.

The marble countertop of the reception desk at the Hotel Royale-les-Eaux smelled of lemon and lavender, to mask the thready, acrid scent of the cleaning agent used. The scents mingled in the air with the airy, botanical notes of the plants and the composite smell of people coming and going in the front hall-- the latter heavier than usual, as a result of the heat wave currently ravaging Montenegro. Le Chiffre could never get used to the way things smelled when he was on the high-grade suppressants these events unfortunately required; the world smelled different, and familiar scents became foreign, when they weren’t accompanied by his own underlying smell.

This left him in the disagreeable position of trying not to shift or fidget while he waited, which in turn made his customary and long-practiced impassable expression even more stony. The clerk in front of him kept himself busy, trying desperately not to notice Le Chiffre while his colleague was in the mailroom seeking a piece of post he was expecting. Kratt had objected to him doing things like retrieving mail personally, but Le Chiffre wanted _this_ correspondence to be seen as personal, and unaffiliated with the event, in case of prying eyes. The majority of the players and the associated milieu wouldn’t be arriving for at least another day, but it was always wise to set a precedent.

A frustrating element of the preparations was the waiting. There was still a considerable amount of work to be done, and Le Chiffre was disposed toward meticulous preparation, but some things necessarily needed to be worked out almost on the fly. And, of course, nothing was helped by whoever or whatever had ruined things in Miami.

The other attendant emerged from the back room, holding a distinct blue envelope which Le Chiffre immediately identified. Jochum had come through on time.

She made her way back, and the other one moved over to make room for her, obviously relieved.

“There’s also a note left for you, sir,” she said as she handed it over, in the cool, practiced tone of one who was paid to keep her composure.

Le Chiffre frowned-- not that it would have been very visible-- and opened the piece of folded paper to glance through the message, which read _J Q arriving 3:15 TIV-- W to follow 3 days. 32 Vojvodanska F rented J Q’s name._ He was looking down at it when the sharp smell of chlorine invaded his olfactory senses.

“Hi,” said a voice possessing a rich timbre and a London accent. “I don’t mean to be a twat, but the aircon in my room’s still broken and I’d really like it not to be.”

When Le Chiffre looked up, a young man was standing about three feet distant from him, looking wryly at the attendant and still towelling off his damp hair. A _beautiful_ man, with grey eyes and dark curls clinging stubbornly to his forehead and a light smattering of facial hair, which still glistened subtly in the light as he moved. Omega, probably, though the chlorine-- especially with the possibility of suppressants-- would have made any scent nearly impossible to decipher. He was nearly of a height with Le Chiffre, wearing a white linen shirt and dark trousers, and gave Le Chiffre a quick, companionable smile while the clerk accessed the service records.

Le Chiffre indulged himself in looking the man over, officiously, and tried not to let his eyes be drawn blatantly to the way the shirt tried to cling, translucent, to the damp skin underneath.

“Towers. 308.”

When his gaze travelled back up to the man’s face, Le Chiffre found him darting a casual, almost amused, glance over at him as he spoke with the attendant, seeming as perfectly unbothered by Le Chiffre’s imperious aspect as by the fact that he was flashing pale, elegant wrists with every scrub at his scalp.

He decided he had lingered too long, and turned to leave, glancing down again at the note in his hand.

“So, is this your establishment, or have I stepped in something?”

Le Chiffre turned back, finding that the young man had evidently concluded his business and was looking squarely at him, hands stuck jauntily in his pockets and towel draped about his neck.

“Pardon me?”

“You’d been looking at me in a manner rather like a cat looking at a spider, so I can only wonder what I’ve done to incur your wrath,” the man continued, with a twinkle to his eye which belied any attempt to look contrite.

Le Chiffre felt the stirrings of a rare smile. “Neither,” he said, turning fully to face him, “though the smell of the swimming pool you’ve brought with you is aggravatingly strong.”

The smile that twisted the strange man’s lips looked both delighted and irrepressible, to Le Chiffre’s fascination. “Well, then,” he said, without even an affectation of repentance, “it _really_ wouldn’t do for me to get some of it on you.” He stuck out his hand. “Adam Towers.”

Le Chiffre hesitated-- but only for a moment, before he reached a startling and perhaps ill-thought-out decision. “Jean,” he said, taking the hand.

Adam’s smile broadened into what could only be called a grin. He shook Jean’s hand with a grip strong enough to dispel any illusions of delicacy, and leaned in conspiratorially as he withdrew it. “That ought to be enough to irritate your girlfriend.”

Le Chiffre’s only response was a look which hopefully said, _nice try._

To his amusement, Towers seemed to interpret the look for exactly what it was, reacting with a grin and a laugh which should have been sheepish, except that they very much weren’t.

Feeling a strange burgeoning sense of what others would probably call _delight,_ Le Chiffre asked, “You’re here on holiday?”

“Unfortunately, no. I’m not in fact free to marinate myself in chlorine all day to avoid baking in my room. Business trip,” he said, with the air of someone making an unfortunate confession. “And a rather last-minute one, at that, so I wasn’t able to swindle my way out of it. Yourself?”

“Protecting a financial venture,” Le Chiffre said, with a brief introspection on the dual truth of it.

“Ah! A man of business. I ought to have known,” said Adam, glancing with amusement at Le Chiffre’s all-black suit. “I have friends who would die to write about your business attire. Fortunately for both of us, that’s not my brand of journalism.”

Le Chiffre tucked that information away, though it wasn’t a matter of much concern. Reporters were more often pestilential than problematic, and in some cases could be useful. More to the point, they were often an unavoidable part of the environment in certain areas of interest, and the game at the Casino Royale had had to be high-profile to attract the right people.

The reason he continued to be silent was more to do with the merry warmth in Adam Towers’ eyes.

“Well,” Adam declared, after a beat, “Suppose I should go wash off. God preserve us if the pool smell should become permanent.”

Towers put out his hand again, and Le Chiffre, unused to people attempting or expecting physical contact of any sort of him, outside the occasional bedroom, found himself shaking hands for the second time, uncharacteristically preoccupied by the feel of Adam’s warm, slightly roughened palm and long fingers, as well as the light sheen of perspiration which had already collected on his forehead, due to the afternoon heat let in by the people who came and went.

“I’ll certainly be looking forward to seeing more of you, Jean,” said Adam, with a leisurely look up and down and a curl to his lips which was positively indecent.

“Likewise,” murmured Le Chiffre, allowing his gaze to flick down to the Englishman’s mouth, but no further. When he looked back up, the green eyes were dancing with barely-restrained delight, and Adam (finally) let go with a parting smile and stepped away.

Le Chiffre stood there, in the middle of the foyer, turning the letter over in his hands as he watched the self-satisfied, confident step to Adam’s saunter, the way the thin shirt stuck to the area of his shoulder blades, and the hand that came up to dry his face with one end of the towel, and briefly contemplated arranging for the serviceman to neglect Room 308 for a few more days.

Then he remembered the business at hand, and turned for the lifts, putting the winsome English journalist firmly out of his mind.


End file.
